


The Ivory Tower of Academia

by BensLostTookaCat (VillainTheBlank)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Epic Poetry, Erotic Poetry, F/M, Fanny Hill Challenge, Female Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Original Poetry - Freeform, Semi-public masturbation, potshots at terrible people, so for that I'm sorry, this is really just filth and i'm not sorry at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainTheBlank/pseuds/BensLostTookaCat
Summary: When people say that there’s an “ivory tower” in academia — that professors and researchers are out of touch with “the real world,” and have no idea “how things really work,” — they’re usually talking about people like Dr. Benjamin Solo, Poet Laureate and Professor of Ancient Languages and Cultures at the Global Freedom Foundation Academy. A man who wields words as honed and deadly as any dagger, and who doesn’t hesitate to use them against the masses who don’t understand why what he does is important (or why it’s beautiful). Sometimes, that includes others within the university, like the bean-counters who deny his grant proposals — or even other professors, like that infuriating Brit who beat him out for the Lor San Tekka Professor of Interdisciplinary Studies post.Dr. Solo cannot stand her, will not speak to her if he can avoid it, and most certainly doesn’t spend any time sublimating his disdain into haughty erotic poetry.There is, indeed, an ivory tower in academia, and Dr. Rey Johnson, one of the world’s foremost mechanical historians, is about to uncover it.
Relationships: Rey & Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	1. Stately Pieces of Machinery

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my entry for the Fanny Hill Challenge! This is just going to be fun for me...I hope you all enjoy it too! Credit to KillTheseLights for her help with the Rianite culture and its epic poetry. Thank you, my darling!

Dr. Benjamin Solo, Professor of Ancient Languages and Literature at the Global Freedom Foundation Academy, cringed at the text message that Dean Amilyn Holdo had just sent him.

> _ Ben, as our resident Poet Laureate and a professor of language, perhaps you would be good enough to come by my office first thing tomorrow morning and explain to me the concept of the ‘optional mandatory all-Humanities staff meeting.’ Kaydel has blocked off your calendar. _

It had probably been unprofessional (and had certainly been childish) of him to miss the meeting, but in the end, he was certain that it was better he’d missed it. He understood the importance of staying on his periwinkle-coiffed Dean’s good side — from a certain point of view, that was exactly why he hadn’t gone. One of the items on the agenda was the introduction of the new Lor San Tekka Professor of Interdisciplinary Studies—a position that, despite his herculean efforts, was not being filled by him. Instead, it had been given to a chit who looked barely old enough to be out of grammar school, let alone post-doc: Dr. Rey Johnson, whose field of expertise was mechanical history, meaning she straddled both the History and Engineering departments.

The Academy had awarded a titled professorship that Ben knew he deserved to a Doctor of rusty, obsolete machines. Dr. Solo shook his head, disgusted. How could they even compare the vulgarity of the first piston engine to the sensual verses of Abu’l-Qasim Suri? What interest could a Roman battering ram hold over a Sapphic ode? No, Ben was only too aware that were he to have gone to that meeting, his bitter feelings would likely have spilled over into something far more unprofessional. Still, he had expected that Amilyn would call him on the carpet for it, and he was going to have to go to her office and face whatever lashing she planned to give him.

What he had not expected was for anyone else to be in Dr. Holdo’s office when he walked in at 8:30. Both women stood; Amilyn spoke.

“No, no, come in Ben. You’re not interrupting anything. Please allow me to introduce Dr. Rey Johnson.”

Ben froze, his eyes flashing with anger; he gave a curt nod, ignoring the petite woman’s outstretched hand until it slowly lowered. Dean Holdo’s steely blue eyes gleamed with what could only be interpreted as  _ warning, _ and she arched one eyebrow.

“Since you were unavailable for yesterday’s meeting, Rey graciously agreed to come in this morning in order to meet you.”

“Indeed,” he rumbled. Ben was many things, but he wasn’t stupid — he knew that his balk was simply going to worsen whatever reprimand Holdo intended to give. However, he did not appreciate being taken unaware by the one person on campus whose presence he most wanted to avoid.

Amilyn turned her attention to Rey.

“Rey, dear, thank you for taking the time this morning to come in,” she said, reaching for the younger woman’s hand and pulling her in. They kissed one another’s cheek by way of farewell, and Rey grabbed her messenger bag, closing the door behind her as she went.

Holdo sat and said nothing, her azure gaze fixed on Ben. Even though he had known Amilyn his entire life, and knew to expect this from her, it wasn’t any less agitating; he fidgeted where he stood.

A good five minutes passed, her stare unabating, before she finally said, “Sit down, Benjamin.”

His nasal exhale was audible, but he lowered himself into a chair.

“I had a feeling that she was the reason for your absence from the staff meeting.” Her voice was even, her face calm, her tone natural, and she raised a finger, cutting off his sound of protest. “Don’t bother denying it, Benjamin; your frankly  _ juvenile _ behavior toward her just now amply illustrated your antipathy, and I confess I am appalled.”

He did feel a twinge of shame at that, not leastwise because this was the woman who had helped his mother raise him whenever his father, the elder Dr. Solo, had been gone — which had been more often than not. He frowned down at his hands.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked. She had not raised her voice, had not used a single expletive, but Ben felt about two feet tall.

“…you could have warned me, Amilyn.”

She quirked an eyebrow, a gesture Ben missed, as he was still staring at his hands.

“You didn’t show up to yesterday’s meeting, which, as you may have heard, was mandatory. Not only did you not show up, you didn’t extend anyone the courtesy of a warning or any explanation. That level of unprofessional behavior will, I’m afraid, reflect poorly on you when the time comes to consider tenure.”

His head snapped up, but then he turned his gaze away.

“As if that’s going to happen during my lifetime.”

Amilyn sighed. She got up and walked over to stand next to him, placing a hand on his back and leaning down.

“Ben, I know you’re disappointed at missing out on the Tekka chair. However, there’s no need to take that out on Rey. Now, I’m going to need you to get your act together and behave like the gentleman and professional scholar I know you were raised to be. Don’t make this any more of an ivory tower than it already is. Everyone at this university has worked hard to get where they are, and I assure you that, as a woman, Dr. Johnson has had to work harder.”

Ben felt a toxic brew of shame, disappointment, and indignation seething in his chest. Juvenile he might be, at times, but  _ chauvinist _ was one slur on his character he couldn’t let stand.

“I assure you, I’ve given no thought whatsoever to Dr. Johnson’s  _ anatomy. _ I couldn’t care less who she is, and for you to suggest otherwise is either lazy or dishonest. A missed meeting doesn’t give you license to assassinate my character, Amilyn.”

“Watch it, Benjamin,” she snapped. “You don’t get to speak to me that way. No one does.”

He fell silent, but refused to look away. She broke first, retreating to the fortress of her desk and looking at her computer screen for a long moment.

“I have other Academy business to attend to, Benjamin. I’m sure you do as well.”

He took the hint and left without another word, but had only just made it outside the door when he was ambushed again.

“Dr. Solo,” Rey said, stepping in front of him. “Please allow me to apologize.”

His temper flared at the sight of her, at the sound of her. Why wouldn’t she just  _ go away? _ Wait, did she say ‘apologize?’

“What?” he snapped.

She took a deep breath, a little rattled by his rudeness but determined to be the bigger person.

“Obviously, you weren’t aware that I was called to this meeting, so I’m sorry that my presence put you on the spot.”

Ben’s jaw clenched. Who did she think she was? She didn’t know him! He snorted.

“You think too much of yourself to presume your presence or absence is cause for remark,” he replied, his voice dripping with disdain. He resumed walking.

Rey jerked as if she’d been slapped. The gall of this absolute asshole! She had thought to mend fences, but clearly, he had no interest in being a good neighbor, or a good  _ anything. _ Well, if there was anything she’d learned in 27 years, it was how to deal with entitled assholes like him — the invariably upper-class white males who felt that academia was their club, no girls allowed! She picked up her feet and caught up with him just as he’d exited the building, putting on her best pout.

“You didn’t even let me thank you, Dr. Solo!” 

_ That _ got his attention, and her heart smiled with sharp teeth. He halted, then turned to face her once more, sucking in a surprised breath at the unexpected (and frankly somewhat bizarre) sentiment and not at anything else. He certainly didn’t deign to notice her anatomy — not her sleek, rosebud lips or her large, soulful eyes that were the colors of a sunlight-dappled forest.

“What on earth could  _ you _ possibly want to thank  _ me _ for?”

“For my position here at GFFA, of course!” She looked at him as though he were funny for not knowing.

Sore a subject as that was (and oh, it  _ chafed!) _ , he couldn’t resist the opportunity to drive the wedge a little deeper.

“Believe me, I had  _ nothing _ to do with your selection for that,” he groused, crossing his arms petulantly.

Rey was determined to ignore the flutter that bubbled up at the sight of his broad biceps crossed over his massive wall of a chest — she was not about to let him intimidate her! All the better that he insisted on being churlish; it absolved her of any pangs of conscience for what she was about to do. She plunged on, upping the ante.

“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes downcast--why did that make his chest twinge? An annoyance he would ponder later (never). He was about to turn and walk away again when she looked back up at him with a smile that was almost too bright, too sweet.

“But… even then, I have your particular field to thank for the subject matter that won me the professorship.”

This conversation was going from bizarre to just plain absurd, but damn him, the idea of her having the last word was unbearable. He fixed her with a bemused stare.

“Oh? And, dare I ask, what subject matter is that?” His tone was, perhaps, just a  _ little  _ patronizing.

“The history of sex machines,” she said blithely. He sputtered. 

Internally, she pumped a fist in the air and crowed  _ score one for me! _

“What exactly is it,” he choked out before regaining some measure of dignitas, “that you think my department is? Because I assure you, I have n—”

“You’re a philologist, Professor of Ancient Languages and Literatures,” she rattled off, looking at him as if he were stupid for not seeing the connection.

He had to admit he was a little surprised, perhaps almost  _ touched _ , that she knew anything about what he did. He nodded at her.

“Exactly. So what makes you think that I have anything to do with… with  _ that?” _

Rey’s eyes glinted as she went in for the kill. “Well, those  _ stately pieces of machinery _ would never have been invented in the first place, had your Enlightenment forefathers paid more attention to living, breathing women than to poems on Cleopatra’s fanny.”

He boggled at the sheer audacity of her statement, and floundered for a comeback — last word, all that.

“Ah, yes, that classic of early modern poetry, ‘Insert widget A into slot B.’” Ben sneered to cover his wince, knowing that it hadn’t been a very good rejoinder; he glared down at her through his glasses.

“Certainly explains all the panty-dropping I see at poetry slams,” Rey shot back, rolling her eyes.

Ben scoffed. “I can’t imagine why no one’s written you a poem, Johnson.”

Her eyes widened fractionally, just for an instant, and somewhere deep down, Ben knew he’d taken it too far, but dammit, he wasn’t about to be topped by her  _ again. _

“Give me a machine any day over a man who’s  _ all talk,” _ she spat — and had she just  _ bared her teeth _ at him?! She hefted her bag and stormed off toward the faculty parking lot, tossing a frigid “see you around,  _ Solo,” _ over her shoulder.

He’d done exactly what he intended to do — he’d won the spar and had driven her off. It would have been nice for his victory to feel like something other than a disastrous defeat.

* * *

Dr. Solo wanted to howl in aggravation.

After the morning’s disastrous meeting, he had spent the previous day working on a translation of the Rianite legend of the Wolf Knight, an ancient and obscure text dating from at least the 4th century BCE. He had a theory that it was the original story that had given rise to the much-later Pejorian legend of the Fallen Knight, a blaggard who had turned and sworn fealty to the enemy of his people, leading them against his clan, tribe, and homeland in conquest.

Well,  _ working _ wasn’t quite the right word; in fact,  _ none _ of them had been the right words, and he had been consistently distracted in the distance between source and dictionary, and… yesterday had been a total waste. He had left after lunch, retreating home to lick his wounds. That night he’d sleep on it, he had reasoned, and the following day would be new.

He’d spent almost an hour staring at words that refused to make any coherent sense before giving up with a heavy sigh. He had turned to his own creativity to get him out of the slump; perhaps the key would be to let words flow out of him, rather than to direct his brain to a task. He was, after all, expected to publish another creative work within the next year or so, on top of the original research.

That was why, forty minutes later, he sat, glaring at the blinking cursor, a tiny black rift that marred an otherwise pristine white page. He hadn’t managed a single syllable.

Stuck. Blocked.

_ Useless. _

He scowled and ran his hands through his hair, which after this morning’s continuous aggravations was thoroughly mussed and sticking out in several directions. Tea, that’s what he needed. He closed the lid of his laptop, then reached into one of his desk drawers for a hairbrush — there was no way he was going out on campus looking like the desperate man he was. Vain? Possibly. Ben had resolved long ago not to care about such things. He stepped out of the building and headed toward the nearest cafe, only to halt in front of the door at the sight of… was that monster  _ steam-powered—?! _

The flyers, taped all over the door, read:

‘ENGINES OF LOVE-ASSAULTS’ AND ‘FURIOUS BATTERING RAMS’: A BRIEF HISTORY OF MECHANICALLY-ASSISTED PLEASURE

AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE BY DR. REY JOHNSON, Ph. D, LOR SAN TEKKA PROFESSOR OF INTERDISCIPLINARY STUDIES

TONIGHT, 7PM, MOTHMA LECTURE HALL; FREE/NO TICKETS REQUIRED

THIS SEMESTER, DR. JOHNSON WILL BE TEACHING: HISTORY OF MACHINES (HIST 483/EGN 525) (3 CREDIT HOURS) -AND- INTRODUCTION TO THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION (HIST 117/EGN 117)

Ben was transfixed in horrified amazement until he heard tittering coming from behind him. He whipped around to see two young women whose eyes were sparkling with laughter, their books covering the lower halves of their faces. He felt his ears go red, but his good breeding was automatic. He reflexively turned and held the door for them.

“Going to the lecture, Dr. Solo?” one of them asked, barely able to keep a straight face.

“I—” The speaker he recognized as Kaydel Connix, Dean Holdo's student assistant who had been in his Intro to Classic Greek Lit course the prior semester. He clamped down on his shock, all cool professionalism, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the door. “No.  _ No.” _

The sudden shift in his mood and the vehemence of his answer caused the other girl to draw back and look at him askance, but not Kaydel.

“Well, you know what they say, Professor,” she grinned. “‘There is only one evil in the world — ignorance.’”

Ben did  _ not _ have time or patience to be sassed by a former student, even a 4.0 one. He recognized the quote, of course — it had been at the top of the syllabus for the Greek Lit course.

“After you, Miss Connix,” he huffed, and her friend pulled her in by the sleeve.

He made a beeline for the counter, and ordered his usual tea, albeit distractedly.

“Do you think she’ll have that mechanical…  _ thing _ on display?” hissed a young woman waiting at the drink station, eyes wide and a riot of curly hair bobbing as she pointed and gestured toward the door covered in flyers. She leaned closer to her companion, who was sipping his latte already, and asked with a tone of fascinated curiosity, “You think she’ll do a demo?”

At the second question, the unfortunate young man’s eyes bulged and he choked, sending droplets flying through the air and barely missing Ben.

“Aah! Sorry— Dr. So— Dr. Solo!” he sputtered, while the young woman with him panicked and grabbed a handful of napkins.

“Dr. Johnson couldn’t  _ possibly _ demonstrate the use of that kind of machine in  _ public,” _ Ben grit out. Her eyes widened, and her freckles were suddenly highlighted by a flush so deep that he was mildly surprised she didn’t combust on the spot. Her mouth fell open in shock, and then she began verbally backpedaling.

_ “Dr. Solo!” _ she yelped, scandalized. “Not like  _ THAT! _ I just meant  _ turn it on, _ that’s all! Oh my  _ god!” _ Her face plummeted into her hands, and she whimpered, smarting with embarrassment.

“Can we please not talk about this?” asked the now-recovered latte drinker, cringing.  _ “Please, _ Enfys, can we just sit down and get to our study session?” She allowed him to lead her away as she murmured “Oh my god!” a couple more times into her palm.

Ben exhaled, suddenly drained, and took his tea back to his office. He was about halfway back to his office when an approaching figure resolved into Dr. Johnson, who cut him a scathing look as she made a sharp turn and headed toward the library — a place which, if he had to guess, had not been her original destination. Fine, let her avoid him! He wished he could somehow do the same — in less than one week, she’d gone from someone he’d never even heard of to a presence he couldn’t escape. He picked up his pace, eager to shut himself in his office — the one place he’d been blessedly free of her.

Sighing in relief, Ben sat his tea on his desk and decided to give the translation another go, slipping into a sweet spot of hyperfocus.

_ They ascended, a swarm of locusts borne on an ill wind _

_ They ascended from the furthest netherworld _

_ Up they rose, the treacherous Wolf leading his cursed pack _

_ Evil omens filled the heavens, malefic rising _

_ Plague fell upon the land, blighting all it touched _

_ Destroying all it could not devour _

_ In vain did the earth cry out to the heavens _

_ Praying salvation from the growing darkness _

_ Yet the heavens remained aloof _

_ But lo! the She-Wolf waited, lonely sacrifice _

_ Her unsleeping eyes twin fires in the night _

_ Determined to stop the Destroyer _

_ She lay in wait across the river, alone _

_ And rose to battle at the enemy’s approach _

_ A fleeting vengeful ghost _

_ Unseen, she smote a hundred marauders _

_ Returned them to the black soil of the Mother _

_ The land gorged on its enemies _

_ Yet faced with the Wolf’s pale, hungry visage _

_ The hand of the warrior maiden shook _

_ Her slender legs trembled _

Ben blinked, letting his eyes blur and then re-focus on his translation. She-wolf? Warrior maiden?  _ That _ hadn’t been part of the Pejorian text  _ at all; _ the only females deemed worthy of mention in the  _ Fallen Knight Saga _ were the nameless mother and sister of the hero, a grizzled spellsword who twice saved the world from doom before disappearing into the mists; Pejorian culture held that he would return from the mists at the people’s hour of greatest need to save them once more. Suddenly, Ben’s pulse was pounding, excitement bubbling up in his chest. He was on the verge of an insight that might completely upend the perception of Pejorian and Rianite cultures! (This was, of course, only of interest to a scant handful of people; but academics rarely consider such things when on the precipice of discovery.) He stretched his neck and flexed his fingers, then returned to the next stanza.

_ The Wolf’s eyes fell then upon the She-Wolf _

_ Golden skin aglow with wrath and moonlight _

_ The waste laid at her feet _

_ Weapons illumined by fire and silver gleam _

_ And in the lovely tumult of her deadly dance _

_ He felt the world’s surcease _

_ On pounding hoofbeats of rushing darkness _

_ He did take the She-Wolf for his prisoner _

_ Yet she did hold him captive _

_ And within his war-camp, his very own tent _

_ He sought to unravel the warmaid’s mysteries _

_ But found his hand was stayed _

Ben’s eyes slid shut of their own volition as he absorbed the stanzas he’d translated, allowing them to weave the tale in his imagination. His arm raised, almost involuntarily, and his mind’s eye saw the blackened armor that girded it, the sword grasped in its fingers. His horse was whickering, shifting back and forth nervously as the unexpected attack broke out at the ford in the river. A rare fog had risen to meet his army, obscuring their path forward and spooking the more superstitious of his men. His two fellow knights had fallen first, arrows finding chinks in their armor with deadly accuracy. Then, his soldiers were driven to panic as their companions’ throats were slit or they were run through. He strained all of his senses, trying to perceive the deadly ghost under cover of the mist.

At a throaty cry that did not sound like any of his men, he whirled and saw… an Amazon. Lightly armored, covered in dark bursts of clotted blood, her weapon glinting in the moonlight, she moved like the wind, her eyes aflame with the lust of battle. She was lithe, her golden skin glowing with exertion, and he knew, deep in his bones, that he had to have this Warrior Queen by his side; that with her, he would be unstoppable. Her battle instincts snapped her gaze to him just as he spurred his horse, and she knew that there was nowhere to go. Before she could turn on him with her blade, he reached down and snatched her up. He set her in front of him on the saddle, pinning both of her arms in one of his own, one hand on the reins as he raised his horn with the other to sound the retreat. She wrenched herself around to glare with hatred at the face of her abductor, but he knew that his battle mask obscured him, and he found himself brazenly tracing her form with his eyes. Her jaw was strong, but feminine; hazel eyes burning in a blood-spattered face whose contours were startlingly familiar.

Ben jerked, startled out of his daydreaming. Why?  _ Why, _ of all the faces in the world, did it have to be  _ hers? _ Now he could no longer escape her even in the sanctity of his own office. A growling sound intruded on his shock, and, blinking at the change in light, he discovered that it was already late afternoon. His tea was long since cold, and his body demanded something more substantial than hot leaf juice, anyway. Walking back to the cafe, another copy of the flyer caught his eye, and before he realized he’d decided to go, he was nodding to himself. Going to see her give the lecture would certainly break the hold she seemed to have on his imagination — hearing her discuss poor mechanical substitutes for intimacy would, without a doubt, be the opposite of spell-binding, and he would be able to separate the She-Wolf and the professor in his own mind. He opened the door to the dining hall with a satisfied nod, and turned his mind to other appetites.


	2. Love's True Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has a plan to take Rey down a peg and get her out of his head. This is not going to go the way he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW in endnotes (spoilers)
> 
> So about the two chapters thing: I lied.

Dr. Benjamin Solo was a smart man--brilliant, even. He was one of the foremost in his field, a gifted and cunning linguist whose intuitive grasp of ancient cultures was singular. He was, however, painfully stupid in some ways. The one that topped them all would have to be the ingenious notion that listening to Dr. Johnson talk about early modern vibrators and sex toys would get her out of his head or make her in any way less appealing than she already was.

Listening to her talk about pleasure had been captivating. Her passionate diatribe on the Industrial Revolution’s potential to liberate women from both economic and sexual slavery had been nothing short of eye-opening. Her vigorous manner—combined with a look that was every young, bookish nerd’s librarian fantasy come to life—had left him both breathless and grateful to have gotten a seat, as he had needed to shift himself once or twice. 

Then —  _ then  _ — she had gone and floored him when, as part of her presentation, she had culled quotes and examples from  _ Anchor Down _ and  _ Order and Rebellion,  _ two of his alter-ego Kylo Ren’s historical novels. She’d used them to illustrate how popular fiction and culture were catching up to the historical realities of female pleasure in pre- and early Industrial European culture. It was safe to say that by the time Dr. Johnson’s lecture had concluded, he was positively bewitched.

The crowd had been small, but her topic had been bold enough to draw more students than would usually be expected on a Thursday evening at the beginning of the semester. He had hoped, despite the sparse turnout, to avoid attracting her attention. When he found it necessary to continue sitting, notepad in his lap and pen in his hand, for several minutes after the lecture had ended, he assumed his cover would be blown, and began to sweat. 

However, if Dr. Johnson had noticed him, she showed no sign of it. Dean Holdo, on the other hand,  _ had _ noticed him. She had looked surprised, but mercifully had been cut off from mentioning anything about it by the sudden appearance of a petite, bespectacled, visibly excited young woman, who had wrapped Rey in a hug and was then being introduced to the dean. Grateful that he’d dodged a bullet, he casually stood and strolled out.

Now, though, he was leaning over in his shower, one forearm braced against the wall and water streaming down his face as her passion fueled his, his thumb lazily circling the tip of his shaft as he came to the end of his stroke, twisting his wrist as he dragged the blunt end of his thumbnail over the cusp of the head, just to add a touch of near-pain. God, her pencil skirt and pumps had made her legs go on for miles, and the soft swell of her ass begged to be grabbed, to be kneaded. He imagined that black skirt riding up her thighs as she sat atop him, his queen enthroned. His fingers ached to grip her hips, to pull her hard against him and help her to ride. Before he could stop it, he was coming with a long, low groan, spilling on the tiles, swirling down the drain.

He sat in front of his laptop, his mind still buzzing with  _ Rey, _ his body still settling down from what might have been at once the best and the most embarrassing shower orgasm he’d had since he was a teenager. Words began to tumble from his fingers onto the keys. Ben could not recall having so poorly judged a situation before in his life; he had gone to the lecture hoping to somehow demystify her, to make her the enemy once more, and she had instead become his muse.

* * *

The colleagues-turned-flatmates walked down the campus path arm-in-arm, chatting, laughing and sipping their coffees without a care in the world. They looked like they’d grown up together and been close all their lives. In fact, Drs. Johnson and Tico had only met at an Engineering Department event over the summer, but had hit it off so well that they had become besties and flatmates, and if you asked them, they’d tell you they’d known each other forever. This morning, Rey was relating the verbal showdown between herself and Dr. Benjamin Solo the morning after the Humanities meeting, and Rose was agog.

“Rey, no you  _ didn’t!” _ Rose gasped. At Rey’s grinning nod, the shorter woman cackled. “Oh, to have been a fly on the wall!”

“You should have seen the look on his face! Of course, after that, he took a couple of potshots. It was disappointing, really — here he is, tall, dark, and climbable—” 

Rose’s eyes went wide, and she snorted, stifling another giggle.

“But so conceited, arrogant, and  _ rude! _ ,” Rey continued,  _ ‘I can’t imagine why no one’s ever written you a love poem, _ ’” she sneered, dropping her voice an octave and muddling her accent whilst crossing her arms over her chest and doing her best to look down her nose at Rose. Her friend gasped.

“What?! What an ass! Did you take it to the Dean?”

“Oh, no, it hardly seems worth it — after all, I was told they’re, like, practically family, or something.”

“Still!” Rose protested.

“No, it’s all right, Rose. I might just write him a poem— ‘Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Eve? For thou art a douche!’”

Rose  _ howled _ with laughter, nearly dropping her coffee, and the two made their way to the Engineering department by the front door. Seconds later, almost as if by magnetic force, the object of their scorn slipped out the side door of the same building--a decidedly unusual place for a professor of philology--a pink stain barely visible on his ears and cheeks.

Rey and Rose put on their professional faces as they passed through the front door. Rose unlocked her office while Rey set her things down in the shared workspace and then went to the mail cubbies. There, she found a small envelope with ‘Dr. Rey Johnson’ embossed on the envelope in breathtaking calligraphy.

“Rey?” Rose’s voice floated from behind her shoulder. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Rey murmured, surprise heavy in her voice.

“Well, are you going to open it? Maybe it’s a congrats on your lecture last night!”

A blank, off-white cardstock, thick and heavy, but smooth and firm under her fingers, opened to reveal more calligraphed words:

_ The sound of your voice is wine _

_ Golden and honey-sweet; hearing it _

_ I sway to and fro _

_ Ah! would that I might _

_ Even once by your leave _

_ Drink it from the source _

~KR

  
Rey stared at the card, then turned it over. Nothing was on the back. Wide-eyed, Rey looked at Rose, whose mouth was agape.

“Daaaaaamn, girl,” Rose said. “Who is ‘KR?’”

“I don’t know!” Rey gasped, re-reading the lines, then examining the card and its envelope minutely.

“Let’s take it in my office,” Rose suggested. Once inside with the door closed, Rey handed Rose the card and envelope. The shorter woman’s eyebrows climbed ever higher as she read each line, and she regarded Rey with a look somewhere between awe and horror.

“That’s some spicy stuff right there,” she said, handing Rey the card back and returning her attention to the envelope.

“Who  _ is _ ‘KR?’” Rey asked.

“Dunno,” Rose shrugged. “The only poet I know of on campus is your favorite professor.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Well, his initials would be ‘BS’—” Rose snorted and both women started to giggle.

“We are  _ sooo _ mature,” Rose chuckled.

“Of course,” Rey deadpanned between bubbles of laughter. “Adults only.”

“Well I have to get ready for my 9AM. Let me know if ‘KR’ sends you anything else!”

Rey waved it off as she left Rose's office. “Yeah, ok.”

She turned the card over and over, studying it, trying to commit every loop and swirl to memory. Then she set it aside to prepare for her own class. Erotic poetry had no place in the Industrial Revolution.

* * *

There was something about a good salad — the  _ really _ good kind, mind you; none of this ‘iceberg lettuce plus cheese, covered in ranch’ nonsense — that made Rey feel alive and refreshed, ready for the second part of her day. Today, her salad had included plump grape tomatoes that burst with flavor, and sliced strawberries that had smelled so sweet they had been crying to be eaten, mushrooms for variety, cool, sweet carrots and cucumbers for crunch, and even chickpeas and a double helping of grilled chicken. She nearly  _ bounced _ out of the dining hall, feeling energized and still tasting the sweet juices on her tongue. It was a quick trot up the stairs of the Humanities building, and Rey breezed into the office, giving the dark-haired work-study student behind the reception desk a greeting before glancing at the departmental mailbox. She came up short when she saw another small envelope sitting in her box, covered in sober but beautiful script.

Rey reached for the envelope as if it might be a live snake, her hand moving cautiously toward it before snatching it and darting off to the shared offices to sit down and read it in semi-privacy. Her fingers trembled just a little as she tried to open the envelope, and a sharp pain suddenly commanded her full attention. Rey stared at the paper cut, raising it to her mouth to suck on it gingerly, then she shook out her hand and grabbed one of the letter openers on the common worktable. Inside an identical blank, off-white card, achingly beautiful script relayed some decidedly ungenteel impulses on the part of the poet. Rey took in each line with equal parts eagerness and embarrassment, her cheeks burning and her mouth dry.

  
  


_ The Evening Star is she _

_ The sheen of her hair _

_ The winking light of her eye _

_ The chiming of her laugh _

_ A radiant, lovely beacon _

_ Whose call must be heeded _

_ But only from afar, lest _

_ I risk eternal exultation _

_ Drawn in by her gravity _

_ I kneel, Venus to worship _

_ And find in her molten core _

_ Blissful oblivion _

_ ~KR _

Before she was aware of it, Rey sat up a little straighter, her back arching just a little, and the movement provided a little delicious friction and squeeze to the apex of her thighs. She took in a shaky breath. Then, to her eternal shame, she re-read it, flexing and arching her lower back slowly, while imagining the would-be lover worshipping their goddess. The most agreeable frissons shot out from her suddenly awakened and damp nether regions, little shocks flowing up her spine and urging her to do it again, and again. She bit her lip, feeling the pleasure build. Then, remembering she was not alone — and more or less  _ in public, _ for pity’s sake! — her guilty eyes darted around the workspace. If anyone had noticed her lower back arching, she would put it down to needing to stretch from sitting too much, but she had to get herself under control before her second class.

She needed to find out who this was, and soon; it was going to be too much of a distraction for her to cope with for a week, let alone an entire semester.

* * *

That evening when she got home, she uncorked a bottle of Sav Blanc, letting it breathe a bit, and texted Rose.

Rey tapped out an order from their favorite taco shop, then changed into the world’s comfiest pants and a nearly threadbare  _ Labyrinth _ t-shirt she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of, throwing her hair into a messy bun. She set two wine glasses on the countertop and poured one for herself, settling onto the couch and tucking her feet beneath her. Rose came in a few minutes later, and by the time she emerged in yoga pants and a drapey tank top that read “Fierce AF,” a knock on the door announced their dinner. Rey doled out the food on the coffee table while Rose poured her wine, and once she was seated, the two women eagerly tucked in to their dinners.

“So! You got another card!” Rose said, once she’d taken a few bites and washed it down with the wine. Rey’s immediate blush, combined with her decision to shove half a taco into her mouth, raised Rose’s eyebrows.

“I couldn’t read the words, but it looks like it might have been a little more descriptive… it was certainly longer…”

“Both,” Rey muttered into her wineglass, taking a long sip.

“Okay, I need to see this,” Rose smirked. Rey cleaned her fingers then went to fetch it, tearing into another taco asada while Rose’s jaw dropped. She fanned herself theatrically with the card.

“Well I want to know who he is! Don’t you?” Rose asked, the tone of her voice almost urgent.

“Of course I do, but how would I even look?”

Rose whipped out her phone and typed  poem “blissful oblivion” in the search bar. There were several results, but none were a match for what was on the card. She frowned thoughtfully.

“Lucky you, looks like it’s an original poem! Ah,  _ l’amour!” _ Rose sighed, a teasing smile on her lips. Rey playfully shoved her with a pillow, her cheeks darkening again.

“That’s not a bad thing, Rey!” Her next search was for  poet initials KR , and there were only two results in the first 5 pages.

“Well, if your poet is published — and with lines like that, he needs to be! — your admirer is either the very late Grand Duke of Russia or Kylo Ren.”

Suddenly everything on Rey’s plate was misted with wine as she spluttered.

_ “Kylo Ren?!” _

“Yeah. What, your favorite poet or something?”

“No! I didn’t even know he  _ wrote _ poetry! But Rose, Kylo… well… remember that paperback I loaned you when you had that conference in Corellia?  _ Master of the Knights?” _

Rose’s eyes bulged. “Oh!  _ OH!” _ It was Rose’s turn to pinken slightly.  _ “That _ Kylo Ren?!”

Now Rey smirked. “Unless he’s got a twin running around, in which case, RIP my vibrator…”

The two women cackled. The best part about a heart-friend like Rose was that neither woman had to pretend to be anyone other than who they were, even (or  _ especially) _ when what they were was dirty-minded and foul-mouthed. As the laughter subsided, Rey’s face changed to something that looked more like a deer in the headlights.

“Rose, there’s just no way! How could it be possible?! Kylo Ren is nowhere near this campus… it must be someone else.”

“But Rey, what if it is?” Rose’s eyes darted around as she chewed her lip thoughtfully, then jolted as she was struck with an idea. “Oh! I know!”

“Oh, no, Rose, please—”

“Aha! I knew it!” She practically shoved her phone under Rey’s nose. The search bar read  images: Kylo Ren calligraphy . Almost all of the images were of the front and back covers on a slim volume. One cover was black, and had silver calligraphy that read  _ The Darkness Calls Me, _ and the other cover was white, golden letters illuminating  _ The Pull to the Light. _ It was beautiful, and the penmanship was very similar, but Rey resisted the conclusion.

“That could be coincidence, Rose, or someone who knows about him as a poet—”

Rose gave her a ‘girl, please’ glare.

“How many people do you think know about him as a poet and a calligrapher?”

“Can’t we talk about something else, please?” Rey buried her face in a cushion to hide her scarlet cheeks.

“Ok, ok,” Rose relented, more concerned with her friend’s welfare than being right. She turned the topic, and the television, to the latest episode of  _ Doctor Who, _ and the two friends settled in to watch.

* * *

Fridays were always great days to get research done at GFFA. By noon, most students and staff had completely abandoned the campus, and it was peaceful, quiet. Today, however, peace eluded Rey, not for want of trying. It was just hard to concentrate on anything since an unexpected parcel had arrived. She snapped a picture of the beautiful arrangements of lilies and roses, along with the calligraphed card — signed, this time — and sent it to Rose.

Rey sighed, turning the notecard over again.

_ For Dr. Rey Johnson _

_ There will be a table for two waiting _

_ Tonight, 8pm, Cantonica _

_ I want you to join me _

_ Please _

_ ~Kylo _

She was well and truly screwed; there was no chance of her getting any work done today. Giddy and nervous, she packed up her bag and grabbed the vase, dialing Rose on her way out the door. She was going to need some help.

* * *

A manicure and pedicure had done wonders for Rey’s relaxation, to say nothing of spending a girl’s day out with Rose. They had gotten their nails done, had lunch, and gone shopping at Hera’s. Rey had even found a little black dress that made Rose squeal — an illusion two-piece whose top part was a midriff-baring black top with off-the-shoulder sleeves, paired with a black pencil skirt and joined by flesh-toned, gauzy fabric in the middle, all covered by a black lace sheath that had a sweetheart neck, three-quarter length sleeves, and a hem that hit just above the knee.

“What about you, what are you going to wear?” Rey asked Rose.

“I don’t know, I think I’ve got a little dress in my closet. I’m just going to be at the bar, anyway.” She gave Rey a final check on her makeup and a smirk.

“Damn, girl, if he doesn’t show, I will take you out to dinner myself! Your look is too good to waste.”

“You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, Rose!” She hugged Rose close. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

Cantonica was the best restaurant in the city, and one of the best in that part of the country, so to say that Rey had some nervous misgivings was an understatement. However, she had come a long way from her deprived childhood, and had even broken down and taken a master class once on formal dining etiquette; it had been on offer over winter term one year during undergrad, meaning she not only spent a month learning how to plan and host a formal dinner party, but she got college credit for doing so. Giving her reflection one last nod, she grabbed her clutch and her keys, and the two women headed out for the restaurant.

It was a few minutes before eight when they walked into a breathtakingly opulent foyer. Both looked around with awe, but where Rey shrank a little inside, feeling like she must have a neon light over her head that read ‘interloper,’ Rose seemed to grow, swelling with anger, indignation, and solidarity. Both women kept a game face, and their initial impressions were locked away almost as quickly as they had come. Rose released Rey’s arm so that Rey could give the  _ maitre d’ _ the name of the reservation. Once he nodded and gestured for Rey to follow him, Rose made her way to the bar.

Rey was shown to a table in a private, dimly-lit area, and her heart began racing as a man stood up at her approach. Their eyes landed on one another, and two worlds stopped, although for entirely different reasons. She was nothing short of ravishing, her black lace gown revealing as much as it hid, and his mouth suddenly went bone dry as he openly stared at her. Her beautiful eyes flashed with anger, visible even in the low light, and Ben found it even more mesmerizing then than he had the day they met.

Rey balked. "You have  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me. Is this your idea of a  _ joke, _ Ben Solo?" She looked ready to spin on her heel and storm back the way she came, and while watching her go might be intriguing, he'd rather watch her come.

"Rey, wait!"

She froze, and he took a fortifying breath.

"If you're going to say your piece, at least have dinner with me while you do?" He pulled out a chair, and she was left gawping at his sheer audacity. Unable to think of a reason to refuse (or anything to say at all), she slowly moved toward him, eyeing him suspiciously the entire time, and sat in the proffered chair.

This was going to be an interesting night.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Male masturbation. Female masturbation in a semi-public space.


	3. Atop the Ivory Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interestingly enough, I found that I'd never posted the final chapter of this work; I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> CW in end notes.

“So,” Rey dubiously began, arching an eyebrow as she settled the napkin in her lap. “You’re Kylo Ren?” Her incredulity was entirely reasonable; only a handful of people knew who was behind the pen name.

“I am that masked man,” he smiled. She couldn’t help but recall his barb about no one ever having written her a love poem, and her surprise soured.

“Thought you’d take pity on me and do me a favor, did you?” she sneered, one delicate nostril lifting her mouth into a snarl on the word ‘favor,’ the hem of her napkin suddenly crumpled in a vise. Ben winced.

“I deserve that,” he grumbled.

“You deserve worse than that, you sodding wanker!” she hissed, her eyes flashing with hurt and anger. “What, exactly, is your game, here? You started off avoiding me; when you couldn’t do that any more, youslagged me off; then you started writing me love poetry, but were too big a coward to own up to it until you could get me in public?! Some women might be too nice to make a scene, but you ought to know bloody well by now that I am _not_ one of them!” Her voice had begun to climb, and her fingers had worked their way up from her napkin to the lip of the table, but she was forced to put her anger on hold and compose herself when their waiter sidled up to the table, doing his best to blend in with the furniture.

“Good evening, Dr. Solo, madame. Do you have any questions about tonight’s menu?”

Ben shook his head, then looked at Rey, who quickly mirrored him, despite not so much as glancing at the menu.

“Very good. Madame?”

Rey swore internally, but swallowed her medicine—how bitter a pill could dinner at one of the top restaurants in the country be?

“Yes… I’ll begin with the beef carpaccio.”

“Is the Barbaresco acceptable, madame?”

Rey nodded, not having the first idea what Barbaresco was, but surely the restaurant knew what they were doing. She suddenly realized that the waiter was still looking at her expectantly.

“Oh… the sea bream, I think?”

“Will the Riesling suit you, madame?”

She hummed, her nose scrunching in a way that made Ben’s heart stutter.

“Do you have a sauvignon blanc that you would recommend?”

The waiter gave a slight smile and a nod.

“And the caramelized cheesecake, please.”

“Of course, madame.” He turned to Ben. “Dr. Solo?”

Ben had to shake himself out of his stupor.

“Hmm? Oh, the… er… roasted beet salad, the lamb loin, and the chocolate creme tart, please, and the suggested pairings will be fine.”

“Very good, Dr. Solo,” he concluded, taking the menus and hastily disappearing.

“Excuse me.” Rey stood from the table, clutching her handbag, and headed toward the front door. The rational part of Ben’s brain understood that she had just ordered food, and therefore was not about to leave him. That did not stop the feeling that she had, in fact, ordered just for the satisfaction of ditching him with a not-insignificant tab.

Rose was sitting at the bar, chatting up the bartender and the gent sitting next to her. The barman was a dashing fellow with the first hint of salt and pepper in his curls and a winning smile; her broad-shouldered neighbor cut a striking figure, warm ebony skin against a royal purple suit.

“Rey! So did he show?!” Rose was all excitement, her wine glass nearly full.

“Oh, he’s there,” Rey said darkly, “and you won’t believe it, but…”

Rose’s eyebrow quirked up.

“KR is BS,” Rey finished, looking and sounding as though she were divulging a state secret.

Rose’s mouth was thankfully empty, because it fell open. “No!”

Rey nodded.

“Are you going to stay?”

“I did just order a three-course dinner, and no one is insufferable enough to put me off my food.”

Rose cackled, then pulled Rey into a hug.

“Do you want me to stay?” she whispered.

“Up to you,” Rey replied. “Keep me posted.”

Rose gave a hum of acknowledgment, and the two pulled apart. Rey looked around.

“So where is—”

“Around the corner, on the left,” said the bartender, his grin charming despite his cockiness.

Rey arched an eyebrow, the corner of her lip curling up.

“See you later,” Rose said, turning back to her neighbor. Rey tossed a wave as she made her way to the ladies’ long enough to reapply her lipstick.

It gave her a perverse thrill to see that Ben looked like he was actually sweating her return, and a genuine delight when he stood up to pull out her chair. Once they were seated, Rey said nothing for a long moment. She regarded Ben coolly from one side, her nose tipped up slightly.

“Dinner at Cantonica might be the poshest apology I’ve ever gotten, so I suppose I ought to at least hear what you have to say for yourself.”

Ben simply rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his eyes, momentarily chastened by her still-simmering outrage, but then his eyes flicked up, boring into hers.

“Did you like them?” he asked, as if she’d done nothing more than thank him. Her head jolted back minutely, and she looked at him as if he’d started speaking in Phonecian.

“What?” Her tone was absolutely flat, making it sound more like a statement that a question.

“The poems,” he repeated, and was that earnestness in his eyes? “Did you like them?”

Rey opened her mouth, but before she could make a desultory remark, her thoughts flew to her covert activities in the Humanities office. Her lips puckered unhappily as she closed her jaw, and her cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.

Seeing her pouty and flustered when she’d only just been snarling and outraged was _doing things_ to Ben. Then, eyes downcast, she whispered “yes.”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, remaining in his seat by sheer force of will.

“Ah, you did…” he crooned, his voice low and his gaze smoldering. Rey took an involuntary breath as the hair on her arms stood up. She had never been more grateful for long sleeves.

A plate, a wine glass, and a water goblet silently appeared before each diner, the staff seeming to melt away without a word. Rey immediately took a drink of her water, thankful for something to break the tension. The first paper-thin slice of beef melted on her tongue, the oil and spices giving it a pungent flare. She closed her eyes and savored it, but kept her appreciation silent; she’d be damned if she was going to be a bad romance novel stereotype. The wine was an interesting red, sweet and earthy, with a smoky tang—definitely something to be sipped sparingly.

“How is your salad?” she asked, spearing a second slice of carpaccio with her fork.

“Flavorful,” he replied, not looking up and not elaborating further. Rey felt a momentary twinge of something akin to embarrassment at the lingering silence, but as soon as she recognized it, she dismissed it. The food was good and she had every intention of enjoying it—she wasn’t about to let a dark and broody poet stop her! If he wanted conversation, he could start it, and besides, he still hadn’t explained actions which were, frankly, ludicrous.

“Machines aren’t good at poetry,” he blurted, out of nowhere. Rey, fork in her mouth, regarded him with a strange look, but couldn’t really let the challenge pass. She quickly swallowed and went on the counterattack.

“Many _poets_ aren’t particularly good at poetry,” she snorted. “‘O! Cover thy pale legs!’, for example.” She took a sip of wine as he blinked furiously, then continued. “Erotic poetry, done properly, is a treasure, but… there are things that words simply cannot _do,”_ she purred, a hint of triumph and no little naughtiness in her smile.

Ben gulped audibly, salad forgotten, and reached for his wine.

“Besides,” she went on, “that still doesn’t explain what made you so shirty, or what made you insert yourself into what you’ve decided is a romantic gap in my life.”

It took every ounce of physical control Ben had not to choke on his wine, and the burn as he suddenly swallowed too large a mouthful of merlot distracted his mind from the idea of inserting himself into any part of Dr. Johnson or her life. This onslaught of double entendres had to be part of her revenge, he decided. She must have been doing this on purpose. It was well-played.

“You became very difficult to avoid.”

“Why did you feel the need to avoid me in the first place?” she demanded, confusion and a little hurt pinching her lovely face.

“I needed time to deal with losing the chair,” he admitted, his cheeks and the tips of his ears going red. “I thought… I let myself be convinced that it was mine to lose, and—” he paused, chewing on the inside of his mouth while his jaw worked back and forth— “after it was awarded to you, everyone seemed to assume the reason I was angry was because you’re a woman. There’s no way to defend myself against that, even though it’s not true. It was easier to simply not see you.”

A torrent of emotions rolled through Rey, playing out on her face, the final one a familiar shade of outrage.

“So what—you wrote me poems to convince everyone else you aren’t sexist?!”

“Rey, that doesn’t even make sense,” he snapped. Of course she would leap to the worst possible conclusion! He stabbed a sweet potato angrily, then a beet.

“Well what then?!”

Fortunately for him, it was just then that their first course was removed and the second course served. Rey was no longer an orphan girl, but old habits die hard, and she had to sit on her hands to avoid stabbing the server for removing the remains of her carpaccio.

Ben sawed into his lamb and took a bite, stalling for time while his temper cooled—he’d never convince her of anything if he couldn’t figure out when to hold his tongue and when to use it. The food itself helped; it was seasoned and cooked to perfection, sharp and juicy, and it was difficult to be angry when all of his senses were gorging themselves on the feast before him. Finally, he spoke.

“If I had written those poems as performative anti-misogyny, why would I drop them off anonymously? Or sign them with the initials of a pen name?”

Mouth full of fish, Rey could only huff, but she was deeply relieved, tipping her head to one side before swallowing her bite.

“Alright, yes, I’m sorry. That doesn’t make sense. But… what… _happened?”_

“I went to your lecture.” He held up a hand to forestall her. “Watching you speak was amazing, even before you unknowingly stroked my… _ego.”_ At that, he grinned like a cat, and Rey had to resist the urge to squeeze her thighs together under the table, instead tucking into her fish with unreasonable zeal. How could a man this infuriating be this charming?

“After that… I couldn’t get you out of my head,” he confessed, and she looked up at him, startled.

He leaned forward, his eyes riveting hers. She was magnetized, drawn to him in a way that was difficult to comprehend or accept. In desperation, she turned the topic.

“Well, Ben, since you’ve been to my lecture, and since I’m here at dinner, I think you know that I… _appreciate_ your prose.” The tip of her tongue peeked out as she fought the reflex to lick her lips, and Ben stared, captivated. “But… I do have one or two points I’d love to get some clarification on from the author.”

He nodded, her words failing to process in his brain because of the way her mouth shaped them. She had managed to take a couple of bites before he recognized that it was silent, and he blinked.

“Oh?” He really needed something else to focus on, so he fell upon his dinner plate with gusto. “Uh, what, particularly?”

She picked up her wine glass and rolled the stem slowly between her fingers, watching the glint of the light through the liquid rather than his face.

“Well, it’s likely not polite dinner conversation, but… some of Dr. Dakota Ford’s conjugal exploits are… a little unbelievable?” Her voice was pitched conspiratorially low, and her words rushed straight from his ears to his groin.

Ben nearly dropped his fork. He winced as his voice first came out a little strangled.

“What— what makes you say that?”

“Physics, Ben!” Rey breathed, an incredulous smile on her face. “Physics and a basic understanding of human kinesiology!”

He stared at his plate, spearing a couple pieces of grilled courgettes.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he sniffed, doing his best to sound detached. No writer relished criticism, and he could only hope it wouldn’t be too awful.

“The first one that comes to mind,” Rey began, scooping up some of the flakes of fish that had escaped and mixing them with the peach and pepper salsa, “happened in both _Road of Silk_ and _For Queen and Country_.”

_The first one that comes to mind,_ she had said—and then had rattled off a pair of titles. A cold sweat prickled on Ben’s forehead as he considered the notion that Rey very well might know his own back-catalogue better than he did, and she sounded prepared to critique it. His pulse climbed as attraction clashed with wariness and left his ego a little chafed.

“There is,” Rey whispered, leaning toward him, “at least one encounter in each of those books where he’s holding up his partner like she’s some kind of plough.” Her eyes widened and her brows lifted as her chin tilted down, shading her face in incredulity. “I congratulate you on your imagination, but—”

“It’s in the _Kama Sutra.”_ He rolled his eyes, waving his hand dismissively.

“I assume you didn’t take it for a test drive?” she smirked, and he nearly stained his Burberry silk with pinot noir. “Honestly, Kylo, I know you didn’t, because there's not a single woman in the history of the world who's ever managed to come from _that!,”_ she proclaimed—perhaps a bit too loudly, given the sudden epidemic of choking gentlemen at the nearby tables.

Neither Ben nor Rey seemed to notice, though, as he looked at her, danger flashing in his dark eyes.

“Challenge accepted, Dr. Johnson.”

"WHAT?!" All her formal etiquette flew out the window at that, and now Rey was getting hateful glares from several neighboring diners.

“Well, you can’t make a statement like that and not give me a chance to prove it!” he protested, his voice low, controlled.

He summoned the waiter with a wave, ignoring her sputtering, and handed over his card.

"Your third course, Doctor?"

"To go.” His voice was almost a growl, and Rey squirmed as it lit a fire low in her belly.

"Of course, Doctor."

Ben paid, and by the time the waiter had returned with their desserts in a bag, Rey had discreetly tapped out a message—_Arguing about literature. Taking it to his. Let me know when you head home?_ Rose responded immediately with no fewer than three eggplants, a thumbs up, and several other assorted emojis. Rey rolled her eyes, but smiled; Rose really was the best friend she could have asked for.

The evening air was warm, but thankfully not oppressive; still, Ben’s hand on the small of Rey’s back made her shiver. He led her to his Porsche (black, of course), and when she turned to ask him a question about the engine option he’d chosen, she found herself pinned against said car by a very tall, extremely solid wall of Ben. He bent down and rasped in her ear, his voice velvet and fire.

“Tell me what you want. I want to take you home and make you eat your words… I want to have you so many ways and make you come in all of them until you beg for mercy.”

Rey didn’t have the way with words that Ben did; she grabbed the knot of his tie, pulled him down, and kissed him frantically, her blood singing with need and her head spinning with desire. He made a noise somewhere between a whine and a snarl, and returned Rey’s kiss with a grasping urgency that shocked him, despite his brave words.

She pulled her crushed, bruised lips away from his and practically purred at him. “First things first, Mr. Challenge Accepted. I _dare_ you to prove me wrong.”

He mouthed the spot right underneath her ear, and as he pressed against her, she could feel the hard bulge against her midsection. “What do I get when I win?”

She craned away from him to give him a playfully mocking glare.

“The best orgasm of your life, obviously.”

“Touche,” he breathed, leaning into her lips, and then stole her ability to speak.

Rey had to sit on her hands for the entire ride home; she couldn’t touch herself or him in the way that she wanted to without risking Ben rolling the car, and she figured his brain was light enough on bloodflow as it was; he was in possession of quite the maypole, from what she could gather. The ride back to his place stretched before her, a tense, silent eternity. Thankfully, Rey had never lost her skill at waiting—though this was sorely trying her patience.

When he pulled in to a gated community, she smirked to herself, but his home was comparatively modest; he pulled into the garage and practically vaulted out of the car. After opening Rey’s car door, he made short work of the deadbolt, and led her into the house. Rey barely managed to get the desserts onto the counter before he made to lift her up onto it.

“No, thank you.” This was punctuated by a nibble to his earlobe. “Marble countertops are hard and chilly.”

He nuzzled the curve of her throat. “And cricks in the neck are uncomfortable.”

She huffed with amusement. “Couches are wonderful inventions. They’re not even machines, so you don’t have to worry about competition.”

That earned her a sharp, but not unkind, pinch on the rear.

“You watch your mouth,” he growled, before dipping his head to suck on the join of her neck and shoulder.

“Only—_nngh!_—if your bed has a mirror,” she smirked.

His pupils enlarged, black swallowing the dark chocolate and caramel irises, and he hefted her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, throwing her over his shoulder. In spite of that, she _laughed,_ the little minx! She laughed, and then swatted him on the rear! He all but ran back to his room, and she landed on the bed with a bounce, scarcely able to catch her breath before he dove after her, devouring her lips and neck and shoulders once more until she pushed him off.

“I’m going to need a little help with this zipper, if you please. You’re not doing that to me in this dress!”

He gave a decidedly ungentlemanly snort at the notion, and reached over, making short and not terribly sexy work of the zipper. If this disappointed Rey, she didn’t say; she pulled the dress off and draped it over the back of an armchair, then reached for the clasp on her knickers when he stopped her, his eyes roving hungrily over her lingerie-clad form. A nude lace bra, with matching thong and garter belt, made her every curve look even more delectable.

“God damn, you’re a dream,” he breathed. She blushed, and he was delighted to note that it spread all the way down to the tops of her lovely, perky tits. She was wrapped up like the most enticing gift he’d ever receive, and he wanted nothing more than to unwrap her. He was absolutely conquered, smitten by her beauty and drawn to her fiery nature.

“Let me,” he breathed. She gave him a surprisingly skeptical look, for someone who was still pink in the cheeks, and flicked her wrist up and down at him before putting that hand on her hip.

“I’ll wait.”

He came over to unclasp her bra and she swatted at him gently. _“No,_ you’re still fully dressed.” She paused, as if to put further emphasis on her next two words: _“I’ll wait.”_

Rey had never seen anyone actually tear off their shirt before; she found the clatter of buttons hitting the hardwood floor was both shocking and titillating. His biceps and shoulders were unreal, and for the first time, she wondered if she might lose this bet after all.

She watched him shuck his pants with almost violent haste, and then he was standing before her, clad only in tenting boxer briefs and dress socks. She bit her lip in an effort not to giggle at how ridiculous that looked.

Rey had to keep swallowing her giggles if she didn’t want to fall flat on her face—or be dropped. The position described in Kylo’s works had detailed a woman, supporting herself on palms or forearms on an ottoman, back arched at an absurd angle, thighs supported by her partner, who, well, _ploughed_ into her from behind. She managed to hold her laughter in for an entire 2 minutes before absolutely losing her composure at Ben’s nearly-unhinged swearing. The angles must have been off, then he was holding her too low, then too high, then perhaps the angles again; of course, as a professor of languages, he had a vast array of colorful metaphors and euphemisms at his command.

(The one that finally broke her? When he growled, and spat _“Methuselah’s hairy balls!”)_

She snorted, then guffawed, collapsing gracelessly and clutching at her sides. He attempted to hold an expression of mild affront before he started chuckling too, and then he knelt at her feet.

“Let me guess, you want a revised edition?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Looking every bit like a pagan priest worshipping his goddess, he bent low, kissing her slender ankles before inching up her legs, and any attempt to reply through her giggles was lost in hums of approval that turned to tiny gasps as he began to alternate the heated kisses of his plush lips with gentle bites. Her skin was heated, soft, and smooth; Ben’s dry spell had lasted a couple of years, he knew, but she truly seemed impossibly beautiful, and right now, he wanted more than anything to see her writhe in pleasure, to lose herself to him. He moved beside her and cradled her as he lifted her up, placing her on the bed, and he followed, kissing across her waist and belly as he went, then dipping down to hover just above her soft, downy thicket.

“May I?” His words were a buzz against the crease between thigh and core, and she made a delicious sound, but he waited, feathering kisses on the crest of her hip.

“Yes, yes, _please…”_ she gasped, and he restrained himself as best he could from the involuntary thrust of his hips at the sound. He took his index fingers and gently pulled opened the first petals of her flower, running the tip of his tongue up between them and pausing at the top to swirl his tongue around the crowning pearl while his thumbs lightly stroked in the opposite direction. On the next pass, he took his tongue deeper still, getting the first taste of her earthy, spicy nectar, savoring it alongside the ambrosia that was her deep moan. Flicking his eyes up, he saw her breasts rise as she arched up, and he wrapped his hands around her hips, carefully tilting her bottom into the air. As he laved her more broadly, he stroked down with his thumbs again, leaving them close to her opening.

When he began to concentrate his attention on her pearl, polishing it and feeling it heat and swell in appreciation, she whimpered and began to move, pushing her opening toward one thumb, then the other. Removing one of his hands from her backside, he touched the tip of a finger just outside the opening. She tried to tilt herself toward it, to bring him in, but she remained empty.

Rey growled, and whined, “Ben, please!”

He hummed in inquiry, refusing to deny himself the pleasure of making her crazy. The vibrations shot through her, but she was too frustrated to pay them any mind. She sat up on her elbows and snarled.

“Ben Solo, I swear to God, if you don’t start fucking me with your fingers, I will lock myself in your bathroom and take care of it without you!”

He raised an eyebrow, pondering whether to challenge her, but decided that everyone getting what they wanted was more fun; he spiralled one digit into her, getting a feel for her. Her walls flexed, greedily dragging him deeper, and he began to thrust, raising up to give his jaw a break and to watch her light up with pleasure. Her breasts were pert and round, her nipples tight and raised; she had goosebumps on her arms, and the most attractive flush from her cheeks to her stomach. He added a second finger at the same time that he laved up the underside of her breast, attaching himself to one of her nipples, gently tweaking and pawing the other with his free hand.

“Ugh—oh my God, Ben! I’m so close, please!” she cried, and the walls inside were both tightening and changing in their texture. He raised off of her breast, and took in her flushed, panting form, her arms raised above her as her fists clenched and unclenched, and she writhed side-to-side. He moved his free hand up to her wrists, laying the smallest weight across them, and waiting; her eyes snapped open, pupils wide, and she nodded at him. Grasping her wrists, he pushed them into the plush pillow, and put one knee between her spread legs. Finally, he began to lick and suck on her other breast, anchoring her with the heel of his one palm, his chest on her torso, and his grasp on her wrists.

Rey shattered, wailing with pleasure, and he continued to pump her with his fingers, laying gentle kisses across her breasts and releasing her wrists to cup her cheek, then running his hand down her curves.

She panted, limp and warm, and he kissed her jaw and cheeks before lying down beside her with a gentle reverence. His own arousal was begging for release, and Rey felt it laying thick, heavy, and hot against her. Rolling away, she raised up on her knees, scooting down to the foot of the bed.

“Lay back,” she purred, “relax.”

He obeyed, and she could hardly contain her shock at finally seeing all of him in the flesh.

_Ivory tower of academia,_ indeed, she thought, and then snorted. Ben immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Something funny, Johnson?” he snapped, unable to completely drive away the fear that she was mocking him, somehow, even after what they’d just done.

Pricked with guilt at his misunderstanding, she opted for showing, rather than telling—words were his department, anyway.

Raising a brow in return, she then leaned back on her haunches, pushing her pert backside into the air. Both cleavages swayed back and forth in time as she crawled up between Ben’s thighs, and his chocolate-and-caramel irises disappeared in an onslaught of desire. On reaching the engorged and weeping protrusion from the apex of his thighs, she locked eyes with him and trailed the flat of her tongue up the bottom of his shaft; he whimpered, his breath quickening. His whimpers turned to a guttural moan and his grip on the bedspread to iron when she took him as deeply as her throat would allow, then hollowed her cheeks.

Slowly working her way back up his dizzying heights, she released him with a wicked grin, and it was impossible for him to say whether Ben found her grin or the glistening string that trailed from her mouth to his purpling tip more profoundly erotic. She gave him no time to consider; continuing her climb, her mountains rose over his tower, a silken trail of fluid evidence of her ascent and his. He moaned, his control slipping away the more his fists clenched, and she mounted him, poised for conquest, then stopped just out of thrusting range.

“Oh fuck, what… why?! _Hnng_—Rey!” He bucked up toward her, desperate to plunge himself deep inside, and his eyes pleaded for the embrace of her body.

“Shhh.” She reached down, stroking his balls with a light, gentle touch, and he pushed his head back into the pillows, his chin tilted high in exquisite agony. “Lay back. Relax. Won’t you be good for me, Solo?” she cooed.

“So good, so good…” he whined, nodding, almost frantic, and his eyes slammed shut as he took a breath, willing himself to stillness. There was an unspeakable power in having this giant of a man at the mercy of a few inches of soaked flesh, and Rey was drunk on it. Still… with a beast that broad at her disposal, why wouldn’t she ride it? He panted and nearly bellowed as she planted herself atop his tower in a single, beautiful stroke. Rey’s head was thrown back, her breasts high and flushed, and Ben reached up, kneading the warm, tender flesh to distract himself from thrusting wildly and possibly hurting her.

Rey’s movements up and down were minute, but mighty, and the pleasure that curled through her from the bottom up was its own encouragement; gradually, her strokes lengthened until she was all but bouncing, dancing to the tune of an instrument that they alone could hear. Their groans were masterful accompaniment, and Ben reached up to grip her hips, pulling her in time with a rhythm that was both ancient and irresistible.

His thrusts were deep and full, but his eyes bored even deeper, straight into Rey’s soul; she couldn’t look away, his spirit compelling despite her conquest of his body. She stared back, amazed but unafraid, as something inexplicable snapped further into place with every snap of his hips, as the tune of a powerful song became clearer with every sigh. The crescendo came quickly, and swept them both away. Neither was willing to move for a long moment, but soon, Ben began to stroke Rey’s sides as she beamed at him, blissful.

“I think I could settle for an acknowledgment in the foreword… and maybe a spot on the alpha reading team.”

Ben’s laughter boomed through the house.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Johnson.”

She smiled, trailing a finger down his beautiful chest.

“Lucky you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Cunnilingus, fellatio, male masturbation, vaginal sex


End file.
